Johannes Punkt’s Flaskpost

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Tag: fanfic


Here, Brad (@Squidshire), I wrote a fanfic about you.


A thought stopped him dead in the middle of the moment, and he forgot what he was doing. He had been holding a knife, but he was not holding a knife anymore: it was safely lodged in the middle of a loaf. He always cut the loaves in half, in half in half in half until they were the thickness he preferred, this was his way, a thought stopped him dead: I wonder how things would go if I pupated right this moment. Another thought: Leather gets more grim the more you think about it.

He bought long bandages of silk and they arrived rolled up like papyrus scrolls. He half-expected there to be hieroglyphs, but it was just so smooth. Right this moment – perhaps a moment could be a few days long. Brad had always considered moments to be like loaves of bread, infinitely divisible. Maybe a moment was composed of several moments closely stacked together. In someone’s eyes, in the eyes of a very old tree spirit perhaps, his whole life was but a moment. He paused momentarily. What was he doing?

He was in the bathtub. He was wrapping himself in silk, a contorted dance in a small space, and he could already feel the new enzymes in his body begin to bite at him, break him down. This was good. People said you could not feel your insides, because you have no nerve endings there, but Brad had always felt inverse like that.

There was the issue of whether he should leave room to breathe or not. He decided against it, but he covered his nostrils the very last thing that he did, writhing around in the bathtub because he had wrapped his arms in silk and could not move them. And then he felt the oxygen leave him like a lover, reluctantly saying farewell, promising to come back.

He was in a deep sleep.

He had never considered himself to be divisible by half, but it turned out that he was. By half by half by half. His organs, once content to be contiguous, loosened their border policies and enmeshed. The silk was his skin and not. New organs were forming, like ex-Soviet states after the fall. He had never counted his organs before but he was sure there was more of them now. Something cracked. It was the sarcophagus he had made himself of silk; to think that something so soft could still crack like ice.

Brad realized that his life was divisible by half, and he had just heard the crack. The thought that had stopped him dead had actually killed him, and for a transitional period he had been dead. He looked at his wings in the too-small mirror of the bathroom, after wiping away the dust. There was a lot of dust to wipe away.

A Google Streetcar Drives into Night Vale

It has cameras all over itself, so it feels safe. A squirrel suddenly lands on its roof, in front of a camera, but that is okay, because it has more of them, and the squirrel will get bored. The logos on its sides waver like flags heralded with its lord’s crest on it. Places like these are suspicious, but everyone trusts us, right? It keeps going. It almost runs over a dog, but it stops in time. A swallow crashes into the driver-side window. And another. The window shatters; a raccoon climbs in. The raccoon drives them toward the canyon.

And Now: a Word from Our Sponsor

Eat your twin in utero; get born. Forever have a hollow feeling with you, never feel sated. Always eat, always carry your twin with you. This world is a circus, and you are the sideshow. You eat all the food you can eat, read all the books you can read. Voraciously. Line your throat with candle grease, eat more. Visit your mother in the hospital. Listen to her talk gibbously about her hunger, how you were born and how you were food. They took you away from her. Wonder now, if that was the right decision.

Eat at Olive Garden.

Bottles and Unbottling

A handmade bottle, with a yellow ribbon around the neck. How do you even blow such a small bottle by hand?

“See anything you fancy, mister?”

“Is that an Unending Serenity?

“It is indeed. Do you want it? Do you have something equipotent to offer in return?”

The man was shaking. “People tell me I bottle things up. I guess it’s inevitable I end up here. This is what I have.”

The Seller produced another bottle, scooped the air a few times, and then put the cork in.

The glass cracked; almost enough to break the bottle.

“You weren’t joking.”


Story is inspired by, or is a fanfic of, girlshapedguitar’s Bottles series, which starts here:


Anonymous desert. Night. The chest roasted slowly over the fire. It had to be hand-rotated, and that was Will’s job. The meat was still glowing, embers flying about it, and the ribs were starting to show. Every now and then, the doctor would cut off another slice of meat.

“This is a stupid vacation,” Abigail said, accepting the slice of meat and putting it on a plate.

“Now stop.”

Will stopped rotating. The chest pointed upwards and the doctor opened it up to the night sky, removing its contents carefully.

Will said, “What kind of an animal has two hearts?”